I become seas of fire but
It does not melt snow;
I melt hearts and I brand
Lovers, with words and titles
bereft and sold – the highest bidders
swallowing me in laughs.
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phoenix girlThere is a mother inside of me,
calling the ink and the summers
to blanket the cardinals nesting
within the embers of her smile.
Never have I thought myself maternal
(I care for my wailing spine
with the distaste of smoker lungs
atop a writhing beauty’s lips)
but perhaps our birdsong is related
because she sings the same, sweet tune as I
but from the comfort of a frostbite
far deeper than my own.
There is a mother inside of me,
and I do not question why or how…
but I’ll nest in her regardless,
beneath the embers of her smile.
Who knows… perhaps she is a phoenix.
prophet-bone(You speak of the sea in colors and ash,
but I never felt condemned)
deserts crack your lips,
spilling sand past snake-bite hands
while you preach of how god brings rain.
I have to wonder when the last time
was that you had a solid drink of air.
Or perhaps you are too full:
hot air balloons to journey up to ceilings
where you spill horizon eyes to be.
but you're not rabbits, and I'm not AliceI made a wish today with witch-made bells and his green shop dust.
I visualized you – Christmas time and your image painted in my iris, as if setting goals and dates to memorize… from where you stood, you were angels and Christ rolled up into one; the shadow of the window nativity and tangible hope.
God knows I wanted to drink it in, until my eyes were ash and my lungs were you.
I know why Alice went down the rabbit whole; this “what if” disease consumes us all.
SaturaThey call me Winter-
frigid caves of melody-wire...
a siren of souls, beached to the moon,
rippling in bouts of her growing foxfire.
grandfatherwhose cheeks were mazes
worn from silent tears,
wrinkles nests like homes
burned through and lived.
whose mazes I discarded apathy
into - into December nightmares
of trenches filled with snow-screams,
God only present in the miracle of an inch.
"I thought you'd be around [to speak them] forever."
He's beneath the flag...and I hope
he smiles, beneath Mable-colored
fields of whatever heaven is...
and I hope God loves him more
than I do--did.
(and a ghost-
lip later, only God
knows if you heard me)
red giantI will be brave while the birds scavenge,
while the storms devastate, because no one
else will hold me together like moonlight
and apparitions in a rear-view city’s landscape.
I will be brave when I don’t fit together
in all the
right places—when making spine bridges
ceases to have meaning for any other purpose
than for granting you passage,
because my boat is only big enough
for pasts and for ghosts, and you will not stop pretending
to be nests, and lighthouses, that call me
home to port when I’ve spent too many days in the depths
in the tsunamis of myself.
I will be brave when the wave crests
and leaves me nothing more than swallowed
(footprints in forgotten sand, another particle to furnish
the world and to hold your feet, because no one else will hold me
in a way of tangibility but you, and I grow weary of being my best
in the pretenses of the sun.)
“You’re winter… someone unknown—unfeeling,” I am told by the inferno minds of mothers, poison ivy-handed and strangled by a sorrow far deeper than blue trenches… and perhaps, then, bruises are truly meant as warmth for starving hearts.
When you browbeat desolation with the same fist, I drown and sob in nailboards, your absence pinned within my throat.
“You’re nothing but deserving,” I am told by stainless steel and death, angry and hidden alongside pillow-roofs and prayers. And maybe I don’t believe in god as I believe in it, directing midnight shadows through the intersections of scar tissue. I am only known by five white walls.
weightless and dizzy-faced, they are the only true friends: iron-lipped and stable.
“You’re too pretty to be so shy,” I am told by a man with fishing hooks for fingers… so I sing and sigh in song, like sirens ‘neath his boat.
I am skinned from the sea three
we all fall downI.
my throat did taste
in my eyes
(if only I'd some kerosene
to set these lies afire)
they desired me
my crows to hide...
but they made night
and night did make
a critical November;
radiation killing cancer
a stem for you,
a thorn for me;
a briar mind
to hide unseen
and two cents guessing
Crow SongI am a crow—
for my full mouth
Grandmother Spider gifted me my black
and my embers, my mantle of smoke.
I am story-teller, wind-bound,
the voice over snow fields
to guide the cold dead to rest.
But winter stilled my spirit,
withered me into a being of sticks and branches,
no bird of prey but a cold and bitter wight
fleshless and picked clean by scavengers.
I build my stories again like late-winter bonfires,
breathe my smoke like rising thunderclouds
to fill my mouth again with carrion calls
and summon the fire to me again.
I contain all the cosmos,
blossom darkly above the white fields,
breathing deep the strength of my new wing-beats.
FingertipsYou tried to wind up the rusty clock,
but it shattered in your hands
and now you look at me with spiralling eyes
because you know I'm as broken as the springs in your hands.
please don't forget i'm trying
The wind in the park brushed away your inhibitions
so I gave you a map of the people we saw
with their eyes in gold and their hands in green.
That's when you pixelated, that's when I saw
your rain streaked fingers clutch the disposable lighter,
and burn away the faces I'd seen for you.
why didn't you glow
The water on your palm seeped into our core
so we walked on fragile wood for days or weeks
but imagining safety never saved us
and remembering failure shattered our footsteps.
start stop start stop you never
White walls kept your pulse out
but I can still hear your whisper from the broken clock
steady as the time it used to count
but my ash-stained fingertips are streaked with secrets.
Don't worry about me. I'll find my way out.
just don't turn out the lights.
motionlessthere aren't words in the English language
to properly describe this loss. blackness.
blink out. fade out. go out. not
with a bang, but a whimper, your
thoughts won't unknot
from my own, i hear you in my dreams;
sleeping is my obituary for everyone
my antithesis, i'm so fucking terrified
you were right and that some part of me
needed you for a genuine reason.
emotion is not bottomless and you
are not forever. i miss you. i miss
how easily you made me cry. stale
mornings and birds that fly the wrong
direction are nothing compared to the way
you relit the world, birthing new stars
every time you touched something
you pretended to understand.
i never believed in your god, but i hope
you'll forward the prayers i sent
my earthly limitation, i'm sorry
you hurt so bad but i'm glad
it's directed at me. you should never
have to hold all that on your
own. emptiness cannot be ignored
or displaced; i wish i was better
at listening. tomorrow
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience in
the holy water of my wrists,
I carve hearts from empty
paper for my galaxyboy
with stars written in his skin,
and I swallow moths to
muffle the emptiness and
help me fly away.
mutterings from over the cuckoo's nesti.
it is dark. that
is a judgment. my roommate
is snoring, and somewhere,
a girl is crying because
she doesn't have a heart
so she doesn't have
a home. if we are time bombs,
I think I must have detonated
a little late. it is dark
and I can't see
why all problems are defined
but their need to be solved.
I dream in color, but I live
in black and white. I drown
in gray faces that don't
sound familiar; it is dark
and I can't remember
the last time it was bright.
I am afraid
of caring. we are a strange
people, we, who love by
hating ourselves, by bleeding
am afraid that
one day, I might start crying,
and I won't be able to stop and
it will be the second Great Flood,
all the world will drown in
my mistakes. You
draw that out of me,
like a marionette on
a string, you pull these
anchors out from
my stomach until I
can hardly breathe. you
live on the other half of the mirror,
I am afraid
that distance is too
in the end,
it's all the same. every
parasthesiaand i guess i should have said i drilled this
cavity through my chest for you; you hid
in my mouth instead. there will always be you
holding my hand protecting me from
monsters in the dark worse than the ones
inside of us. goodbye
is not a word. it is the way
you will not meet my eyes when i
tiptoe back through eggshells and phantom
heartbeats. i guess i should have said
i don’t know the labyrinth of myself. i
should have mentioned the pinpricks
on my skin where you injected
yourself like a vaccination. i should
have told you that your eyes remind me
of a watercolor sunset and your hands
are anchors and you are always warm
and i am tired of shivering. i should have
warned you that i’ve never loved anyone
as much as a prescription. i should
have held you closer to me, i should
have held your pieces tighter, i should
have carved a bigger hole.
Love resides, among us, abides
Another announcement, another point added to the disaster unfolding
I'm here by the T.V, while its hope still that I see myself holding
The sun is but bright, but warm in the sky so blue
Clouds around here are rolling on by too
But by the towers, and by my husband are they blacker than smoke
Through the screen shows another veil, another form of hatred
But why? But how? Answers swirling in my head that I wish were answered
How could someone be so cold, to murder their own kindred
Why would someone believe, their life for sacrifice be achieving something?
Suicide they say, is a permanent answer, for a temporary problem
I believe my husband is still alive, I believe that his hope is still strong
One thousand times I've been right, will this be my first wrong?
The wind but blows softly on my face, through my open door
I wish he could feel what I'm feeling, think what I'm thinking and more
I wish he was safe, that he could see me again, because I want him here
It's not time yet, it's
sleepwalking with stars
like bulletwounds, tonight
is for wandering and
loving people I’ve never met.
I have a hole in my heart for
the boy on my bus who balances
the world on his chin as he sleeps.
I’m drawn to a sunshine girl leaking
beams every time she opens her
mouth to smile. and still, I follow
a boy who walks across clouds;
I want to ask him to send me up
like a balloon.
ways I need to be loved:
a hand heavy on my hip to remind me
gravity is more than an ideal, a
soft kiss to bring me back from
other galaxies, a calm whisper
when I’ve run out of words
but the silence is too
I’m severely broken up,
fragments of words and
heartscraps and sky-pieces;
crawling backwards through
open windows trying to find
a home. I’m trying but
I was untaught how to
function, I’m trying to
be correct. I’m trying to
be normal. I’m trying to
be correct. I’m trying.
words I need to hear:
I Love You. i love you
i love you i lov
i am beautifuli.
i am beautiful
with tear streaked eyes
and shaking hands
clutching my blanket as hard as i can
i am beautiful
as i walk down the school hallways
faking a smile
watching masks slipping off of people's faces
as i walk by
i am beautiful
as i stand facing a bathroom mirror
clutching only a towel around my bare body
thinking about how numb seeped it's way into my heart
and how it feels like there is nothing there to stop it
from destroying me...
i am beautiful
with closed eyes and shaking hands
i can believe i am truly beautiful
and not pretend at all
the snow is white
as i stand at heaven's pearly gates
looking at a reflection
at a girl
who has the widest smile i've ever seen
and is by far the most beautiful girl i've ever looked at
I don't just harm myself. I always hurt other people.
A bit, yes. Or, rather, a rough month.
I should be better soon... it's just all the little things piling up, and I usually don't even know what I become upset over, so it's really hard to help myself when I don't even know the problem.
Thank you for caring. You always make me smile, for sure! So that's a victory within itself
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More